Page 47 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
It was a dangerous emotion. Because I liked it. I liked her. I liked her fragility. Her fear and courage. She made me feel different.
The ship groaned again, but the worst of the storm had passed. The worst ofthisstorm, at least. She lifted her head slightly, and her cheek brushed against my chest. I felt the heat of her skin, the dampness of the storm as it clung to her hair. Her wide, uncertain eyes met mine, and something in my chest tightened.
"Are you always this warm?" she murmured.
I exhaled through my nose. "Are you always this small?"
Her lips parted, not quite a smile, not quite a retort, but something in between. The storm was easing, but I didn't release her.
Stranger yet, she didn't try to make me.
The ship still swayed beneath us, but the worst of the storm had passed. The violent roar of the wind had softened to a distant howl, the rain was now a gentle patter against the wood, like a drumbeat fading into silence.
Roweena's trembling had lessened, but I could still feel the slight shudders rippling through her as if her body had not yet convinced itself the danger was gone. I liked how she felt in my arms. How she made me feel.
I leaned down and noticed how her eyelids fluttered heavily, how she leaned against me without realizing it, as though her body had surrendered to the need for rest while her mind still fought to remain wary. She was exhausted.
Slowly, carefully, I scooped her up, lifting her from the floor with ease. She let out a quiet gasp but didn't resist—not this time.
"You need sleep," I said, my voice lower, softer than it usually was.
She didn't argue, only murmured something too quiet to hear, her head tipped against my chest. I carried her across the small cabin, the lantern's glow flickered and created shadows that danced across her delicate features.
When I lowered her onto the narrow bunk, she stirred, blinking up at me with hazy, drowsy eyes.
"I don't—" she started, but I brushed stray strands of hair from her face, and whatever protest she meant to voice faded on her lips.
"You are safe," I murmured, my fingers lingering just a little too long against her cheek.
She swallowed, and for a moment, she only looked at me as something unreadable flickered in those storm-swept eyes.
"Go to sleep, Roweena, we're safe now," I said, the words coming easier than I expected.
She hesitated, "You can't promise that."
I exhaled slowly, watching her, watching the weight of everything she had endured press down on her like a burden too heavy to carry alone.
"I can," I replied. Because I knew the storm had spent itself. It hadn't been summoned for us. What she didn't understand was that she was mine to protect. I was homed in on all the dangers around us, even nature.
Her lashes fluttered once, then again. Finally, her breathing slowed, and she sank into the mattress as sleep pulled her under. For a moment, I stood there and simply watched her as I memorized the rise and fall of her chest, the way the lantern's glow softened the tight lines of tension on her face.
Vaelora had never needed comfort.
Vaelora had never let me hold her like this.
I turned away, moving to the chair in the corner. I wouldn't sleep, but I could keep watch as I had always done. Watch over this strange woman Vaelora had chosen to be her vessel. A woman who looked like Vaelora but was so different.
I had never known Vaelora to be fragile.
The two of them were one and the same—Roweena and Vaelora—and yet, as I looked at the woman before me, I found myself struggling to reconcile them as such.
Vaelora had been immortal, unshakable, a force of existence itself. She had walked through war and destruction without so much as a flinch, had commanded the heavens and the earth without fear or hesitation.
Roweena was... human.
She trembled. She bled. She feared.
She sought comfort in my arms, something Vaelora had never done, never needed. Vaelora had been untouchable, unknowable, a goddess of war and order.
